


brains for breakfast

by androdyke



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Cannibalism, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Humor, M/M, Mild Gore, Multi, Santa Clarita Diet AU, jon and martin are married, melanie is 13 and jaded and tiktok famous, santa clarita style not apocalypse style, sasha tim and gerry are nosy neighbors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androdyke/pseuds/androdyke
Summary: “Jon,” Martin’s voice is strained, “You just killed and ate an old lady.”“Yeah, well.” Jon pauses. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again, “We all have bad days.”
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 13
Kudos: 67





	brains for breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> i call this one the “watch me introduce a bunch of food-based symbolism that goes nowhere”

The afternoon weather has not yet reached its warmest, though the bright rays of sunlight have begun to beat down. Through the air, a slight chill carries itself across the neighborhood. The streets are no quieter than they tend to be. They are no louder than they’ve been before. People are at work and their children are at school. Occasionally, a car will pass through, pulling into a driveway. Garage doors open. Houseplants twist about to soak up the light. Jonathan Blackwood-Sims and his husband stand side-by-side in their backyard. They are looking down. 

The fresh corpse of Mary Keay lies face-up in the grass, bleeding through new wounds and spasming around her missing chunks of flesh. 

“I mean, I think we can just be cool about it.” says Jon, resting his head on Martin’s shoulder, “We’re a regular suburban family. This doesn’t have to be a  _ thing _ .”

“Jon,” Martin’s voice is strained, “You just  _ killed _ and  _ ate _ an old lady.”

“Yeah, well.” Jon pauses. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again, “We all have bad days.”

Martin’s eye twitches. He tries to remember his breathing exercises.

* * *

It wasn’t on  _ purpose _ , of course. Not really. Thursdays are difficult for Jon, more than halfway through the work week yet still agonizingly far from the weekend. Jon’s motivation to be fit for polite company on any given Thursday is always scarce.

It went like this:

Jon woke up abruptly at 4 AM, as per usual. He sat up, took a few deep breaths, and went back to sleep. Martin woke up peacefully at 7 AM, as per usual. He kissed Jon on the cheek and gently shook him awake. Jon grunted at him, face squashed against one of the many pillows on their bed as if he was trying his hardest to suffocate. 

“Darling, come on.” Martin said, “It’s time to get up.”

“ _ Martin _ .” Jon groaned, still muffled.

“ _ Jon.” _ Martin replied lightly.

“We’re librarians. The world won’t end if we skip a day of work.”

At this, Martin hummed and settled back onto his side. His hand softly holding Jon’s shoulder was replaced by the press of his cheek against Jon’s neck. Jon barely fought back a stupid, syrupy grin as he leaned back against Martin’s chest. Martin had always run warm, Jon mused, as his husband’s arm settled delicately around his waist and pulled him closer. Jon sighed happily.

“My idea,” Jon murmured, “Is that we get up briefly, drive Melanie to school, and come back. Then, we nap for the next seven hours, Magnus Public Library be damned.” 

Martin snorted. 

Such was their routine. Jon would half-heartedly argue against getting up and getting ready. Martin would be all  _ responsible _ about it, citing made-up bullshit like money and supporting their daughter that they needed to worry about. Jon would pretend to be bothered by it, yet offer no resistance when Martin inevitably pulled him out of bed and handed him his toothbrush once they ambled over to the bathroom to wash up. The excuses were for show, really. They always started their day eventually. Martin would refuse any other option.

“Sure.” said Martin, pressing a kiss to the shell of Jon’s ear, “If you really want, we can do that. I’ll call in and tell them we’re sick.”

“What the fuck.” said Jon. 

He considered pinching himself. Or pinching Martin. He lay very still instead, numb and dumb with shock.

“Don’t get upset, Jon. It’s alright. If you’re really feeling tired, we don’t have to-” 

“Martin,” Jon rolled over to face him, “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not.” Martin quirked an eyebrow and smiled just a bit. Jon wanted to kiss him. Jon needed to  _ focus. _

“You always act like the adult in the family until lunch, and then I always take over until after dinner. You can’t  _ indulge _ me right now, it’s irresponsible.”

“I’m perfectly responsible,” said Martin. He brought his hand up from Jon’s waist to cradle the edge of his jaw. Jon’s whole face softened, and promptly sharpened again. Fucker was playing  _ dirty _ . Martin continued, “But rest is important, too. I don’t want you to overexert yourself, you know?”

Something in Jon’s brain clicked. Of course, Martin was worried about  _ that. _

“Martin, is this about the vomit thing?” 

Martin looked away, “It’s not... _ not _ about the vomit thing.”

“I told you that I feel  _ fine _ . It’s all in the past.”

“It was  _ yesterday _ , and there was so much vomit. So much, Jon. Jane apparently spent literal  _ hours  _ cleaning the breakroom, she texted me about it.”

“Must’ve caught some sort of stomach bug. It happens, I’m fine.”

“You threw up an organ.”

“We don’t know that.”

Martin inhaled sharply, then exhaled very slowly. He placed his free hand over his chest as if to steady himself. Strange thing to do, seeing as he was lying down, but Jon wasn’t one to judge grounding techniques. Without preamble, Martin sat up and reached over to the small chest of drawers sitting at their bedside. He rifled through the top drawer furiously for a few seconds before triumphantly holding up a small plastic bag.

“What is  _ this _ ,” Martin asked, “If not a fucking organ, Jon?”

A ball, Jon thought but did not say. If it was an organ, it wasn’t one he recognized. The thing in the plastic bag was small and shriveled and bright red, about the size of a golf ball or a particularly round clementine. It floated inside the bag, swimming in about a cup of olive oil. He and Martin couldn’t find formaldehyde on such short notice, so they’d done what they could. Martin looked from him, to the ball, to him again as though either would have given him any clarity. Jon clicked his tongue.

“A kidney stone, maybe.” he said, just to see Martin bristle.

“Why would a kidney stone have been in your stomach, Jon?”

“Same reason all my organs were there, I guess.”

In one swift motion, Martin flopped onto his back, dumped the plastic bag with the ball on top of the chest of drawers, and groaned. Jon looked at him fondly, as Martin pulled the plush duvet back over them both and glared at the ceiling fan.

“Tell you what,” said Martin, “You feel fine, but  _ I _ don’t want to go to work today. Your life’s been great, but  _ my _ life’s been a bit stressful ever since my loving husband emptied his bloody guts in the breakroom yesterday, puked up a fucking unidentifiable sphere, and then proceeded to act like nothing was wrong. So, I kind of want to take it easy. And if I’m monitoring him to make sure the next thing he hacks up isn’t a  _ lung _ or something, then so be it.”

“I‘m  _ fine _ .” Jon said, embarrassingly petulant.

“Relationships are about sacrifice, love. Got to do things for  _ other _ people.” Martin huffed as Jon weakly swatted a hand in his direction, catching hold of it and lacing their fingers together, “Speaking of which, shall we go make sure Melanie isn’t trying to eat ice cream for breakfast again?”

“She better not be.” Jon groused, finally rolling over and out of bed.

* * *

Melanie, obviously, was eating ice cream for breakfast.

“Come on, it’s practically in my  _ nature _ .” She huffed as Jon put the box of ice cream sandwiches back into the freezer, “Plus they’re strawberry, and fruits are healthy.”

“We’ve got actual fruits in the fridge.” Martin said. He hovered over the stovetop, cracking eggs into a pan and casting a glance over his shoulder to raise an eyebrow at her.

“Can’t eat those in sandwich form, though.” Melanie scoffed as if  _ Martin _ was the one being ridiculous.

Jon eyed the contents of the fridge again and again, as if searching for something, “Probably could, actually.”

Melanie wrinkled her nose. She slid into a chair with a sigh and leaned her elbows on the table. Jon continued his scrutiny of the open fridge for a few more minutes before easing the door shut, looking mildly put off. Martin didn’t question it. Thursday mornings were harrowing, he felt it too. 

The scrambled eggs in front of him sizzled. 

“Could one of you get me some plates?” he called out, not taking his eyes off the pan. The tricky part was coming up, the one where he had to hit the sweet spot between fluffy and undercooked. He was distantly aware of Jon laying three plates near the stovetop and pecking him on the cheek. Jon always woke up fully after breakfast, so Martin was laser-focused. It was hardly his fault that he didn’t hear his phone ringing. He couldn’t be blamed for Melanie getting to it and answering it for him.

When Martin snapped out of his chef’s trance and divvied out the eggs onto the plates Jon had laid out, he finally looked up. Melanie stood near the table, Martin’s phone pressed against her ear. She was making a  _ face _ . Not one of discomfort, but she definitely looked like she’d heard something weird. Beside her, Jon was seated in a chair. He idly pushed away the plate in front of him and looked at her curiously.

“Uh...okay? On  _ our _ driveway?” Melanie asked. The phone wasn’t on speaker. Martin still wasn’t sure who she was talking to. Melanie raised an eyebrow as she listened to the other end of the call, “Well, we don’t- we’re not  _ expecting _ anyone. Hm? Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Wordlessly, Melanie held out the phone for Martin to take.

“ _ It’s Ms. James,”  _ she whispered. Which, yeah, that  _ was  _ weird. Sasha James was a lovely neighbor, but she wasn’t the type to call randomly in the morning. 

“Morning, Sasha!” Martin greeted her, “What can I do for you?”

“Hey, Martin. Morning!” Sasha sounded...perplexed about something. Not necessarily a bad thing, but it got Martin’s hackles raised nonetheless, “So sorry to bother you guys, I know we’re all just trying to start our days, y’know?”

“Uh huh.” said Martin.

“Yeah.” said Sasha.

“Did you need anything?” asked Martin.

“Um,” replied Sasha, “Kind of? I’m mostly just curious about something.”

Martin waited for her to go on.

“Who’s the lady standing in your driveway? Short, white, cropped gray hair, looks elderly. Melanie said you weren’t expecting anyone, but she’s staring directly at your house. A relative, maybe?”

“Jon and I don’t have any white relatives,” Martin said slowly, “That we know of, at least.”

Jon looked up from where he was giving his lovingly-made breakfast a venomous glare when he heard his name. Melanie had gotten seated as well, staring at Martin with an equal amount of interest. Like children gathered around a campfire, Martin thought to himself. He ought to get marshmallows next time they did the groceries, didn’t he? They were one of the few foods that only Jon seemed to like, maybe they’d help him destress. In his ear, Sasha continued to talk idly.

“You think she’s a Mormon? Or, wait, no. I’m pretty sure only young men do the door-to-door thing. Jehovah’s Witness, maybe? I heard those guys don’t celebrate birthdays or something. Tim was reading some article about it last week. D’you know they started arresting Jehovah’s Witnesses in Russia? Or, like, some other country? Could’ve been Russia, but I wasn’t really paying attention. That’s insane, though, and like super oppressive probably. Oh! Speaking of oppressive, what if she’s with the HOA? Or a serial killer!” Sasha sounded too excited about the prospect for Martin’s tastes.

“Hopefully not a serial killer. Uh, thanks for the heads up, Sasha. I’m gonna go...check. Maybe just ask her.” Martin silently motioned for Jon to get up, heading out of the kitchen and towards the front door.

“Oh, good idea! Keep me updated? Things have been  _ so _ boring for us over here since our Sasha Two went to uni. Must be the empty nest syndrome. Say, Melanie’s birthday is-”

“ _ Bye _ , Sasha.” Martin hung up as he reached the door. 

Jon and Melanie crowded behind him while he peered through a window, squinting. There  _ was _ a lady there. She stared at their house with a calculating look in her eyes.

“Do either of you know her?” Melanie asked from behind Martin.

“Don’t think I’ve seen her.” Martin said, “Jon? What about you?”

He looked to Jon, only to find him unlocking the front door and swinging it open.

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” Martin hissed. Melanie had jerked her head away from the window to look in Jon’s direction, mouth hanging open. 

“I’m letting her in,” Jon didn’t even hesitate to lean out the doorway and wave to her, “It’s cold out. Maybe she needs something.”

“We don’t  _ know _ why she’s here! If she wanted something, why didn’t she ring the doorbell instead of just...stare?” Martin was  _ not _ thinking about what Sasha said. Their front lawn was immaculate, and the lady definitely wasn’t a serial killer. 

“Wait, Dad, what if she’s a serial killer?” Melanie asked.

“She’s probably not.” Jon said, at the same time that Martin stuttered out, “Ah, fuck, she actually might be.”

Jon had the audacity to grin at them, “Here I was, thinking  _ I _ was the worrywart of the household. I promise I won’t let the elderly woman murder you in broad daylight while Tim and Sasha are undoubtedly watching from down the street.”

With that, Jon walked through the front porch and out to the driveway. 

The woman turned her head to face him with frightening speed, eyes unblinking. She scrutinized him for a second. Her chin tilted up and her shoulders were back, like small dogs who think they’re wolves. Jon half expected her to snarl at him too. Instead, she smiled like she was baring her teeth.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” her voice was sharper than Jon thought it would be, clear and cutting through the distance between them.

“Sorry,” he said, “I don’t think we know each other.”

The woman chuckled. He hadn’t said anything funny, but whatever. She strode up to him until they were standing close together. Like old friends catching up, or new friends introducing themselves. When she stuck a hand out, Jon took it. Her skin was dry and her palms were calloused. Her grip was so firm that her nails dug into Jon’s skin.

“I’m Mary,” the woman told him, bemused, “I just wanted to say hello. I’m staying with my son temporarily, just visiting the neighborhood.”

Martin and Sasha were idiots. This was just someone’s  _ mother _ . 

“Well, Mary, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Jon. Sorry, would you like to come inside? The winter weather’s been coming in as of late, you must be freezing.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” she said lightly, “Again, I just wanted to say hello. I should head back home, I’m sure you and your family have places to be, yes?”

“Yes, I-” Jon was cut off by Mary abruptly turning around and walking away. She power walked down the sidewalk at a frightened pace. Jon was left standing on the driveway with his hand still extended, like some kind of idiot. From his pocket, his phone began to ring.

“So?” Sasha’s voice said through the speaker when he picked up, “Did she ask you to go to church or what?”

* * *

In the interest of having at least one person in the household be punctual, Melanie’s dads had foregone breakfast to pile into the car and drive her to school. Melanie scarfed down an energy bar as quickly as she could while Martin drove. 

“Almost there,” Jon told her from the front seat, “You won’t be late, right?”

“My first hour teacher doesn’t care as long as we show up at some point,” Melanie replied. Shifting around in the backseat, she stuffed the empty energy bar wrapper into the front pocket of her backpack and mashed her face against the car window, “I don’t want to be too late, though.”

Jon hummed, “Because of that girl you like, right?”

Melanie nearly choked.

_ “Jon!” _ Martin hissed. Melanie heard a tap, likely Martin batting Jon on the shoulder. Probably. The horrible wave of anguish that had just turned her brain into jelly made it hard to pay attention. The car bustled over a bump in the road and Melanie could have sworn she felt it knocking around the insides of her skull.

“What?” Jon said, loud enough for her to hear, “It’s cute! And Melanie never  _ talks _ to her even though she seems so nice. Melanie, what does your generation enjoy? TikTok? Talk to her about that.”

“Don’t embarrass her!” Martin chided, “Besides, since when are  _ you _ so bold, Jon?”

“Since right now! I’m not giving bad advice, am I?”

“You’re not, you’re not. But come on, just let her figure it out on her own!”

“I’m helping her do that! Crushes can be short-lived, so there really is no time like the present.”

“You’re so impulsive today.”

The second she felt Martin bring the car to a stop in the school parking lot, Melanie scooped up her backpack from beneath her feet and barreled outside as fast as she possibly could.

“I don’t have a  _ crush!” _ She most definitely did not yell while shutting the car door behind her, “I don’t like any girls. I hate girls. I don’t even  _ know _ any girls.”

With that, Melanie stalked off across the parking lot. All around her, students and teachers drove in and out, parking their cars and gathering their bearings. Across the lot, a group of sixth graders noisily chattered about some stupid thing or the other as they stumbled out of a massive car. A few of them were taller than her. Melanie bristled. This fucking place. 

She didn’t  _ hate _ school or anything, of course. Eighth grade had been  _ fine _ so far. She got good grades without expending too much effort and she had a couple of friends she could eat lunch with. The problem was boredom. Being locked in a building full of sweaty preteens and middle-aged burnouts masquerading as teachers had gotten old  _ last  _ year. At this point, it was bordering on ridiculous and only made worse by how she had to share her space with idiots like those tall kids.

High school would probably be different, Melanie assured herself as she hopped up the curb and tore down the sidewalk. More people meant more chances to make friends and an easier time of blending in. Hopefully. She didn’t think she was a shy person, but that didn’t mean she wanted attention from a place like this. That’s what TikTok was for. 

Speaking of attention, Melanie’s ears perked up as she heard the familiar sound of plastic wheels on concrete. Across the sidewalk, gliding towards the school’s main entrance, was  _ Georgie _ .

Melanie screeched to a halt as Georgie skated past her on her plain gray skateboard, worn-out headphones jammed into her ears and a massive black backpack slung over her shoulders. Her eyes, ringed in electric blue eyeliner, lazily flitted about as she surveyed her surroundings. 

“Hey!” Georgie waved, catching Melanie’s stare with piercing eye contact. Hell, Melanie had had low vision since birth and she  _ still _ felt like the shared eye contact was too intense. Was it hot outside? She felt like it was hot outside. 

Melanie waved back weakly. 

Finally, with only a little bit of stumbling, Georgie slowed and came to a stop in front of the school doors. She tucked her board under one arm before striding inside. Melanie wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans.

Fucking middle school. Fucking Georgie. Melanie  _ seriously _ needed something else to do.

* * *

Back at home and up to his elbows in basil leaves, Jon sighed contentedly. Perhaps Martin had been right, they both needed a day off. Stepping back, he stretched his shoulders, arms pointed up to the open sky. A soft breeze brushed against his skin, and all the plants in the backyard swayed in tandem. 

The garden was honestly Jon’s pride and joy. He and Martin had been living in this house for years, mostly for Melanie’s sake. The school district was good and all. In the interest of making it feel more like a  _ home _ , he’d driven to the garden supply store on impulse one night and returned with countless packets of seeds, planters, and bags of potting soil. Now, all those seeds had blossomed beautifully (save for the ones that got picked up by birds) and the planters held healthy herbs and flowers. 

The basil and tulsi were growing beautifully. The rose bushes along the fence bloomed with vivid color. The mint, rosemary, and red chillies stood in a row, bright and sprawling. The grass teemed with life, tall and green and glistening across the yard. The old woman from earlier that morning waited upon it, the open gate leading to and from the backyard swinging behind her.

Wait.

“Did you just break into my house?” asked Jon. 

“I wouldn’t say that. I went from the front yard to the back yard, both of which were perfectly accessible.” Mary replied. She looked awfully pleased with herself. Something about her was making Jon’s blood boil.

“Yeah, well,” he kept his gardening gloves on as he turned away from the basil and stepped towards her, “Still don’t do that. It’s rude.”

“I’m sure propriety is quite the concern for you, given what you must be experiencing.”

“Uh.”

“I’ve read about people like you, you know? I’ve heard every story there is. Say, Jon, do you ever feel like you’re...different from all other people? That you’re only adjacent to humanity, tethered by the multitudes of worries boiling beneath your skin?”

Jon pauses, considering this. He wasn’t sure what the fuck Mary was talking about. He told her this.

She continued smiling, saying, “I don’t think that’s true.”

Then it hit him.

“Did you invite yourself into my yard just to be racist? What is wrong with you?” 

“You’re funny. You know what I  _ really _ mean. You know that I’m right.”

And, the thing is this: Jon didn’t about it. It felt instinctual, almost. Like flinching at loud sounds, or squinting in the sunlight. One moment he was standing in the yard, confused and pretty understandably upset. The next, he was killing Mary Keay and digging into her dead fucking body like some kind of wild animal. 

At least the garden gloves kept his hands clean.

* * *

Now, in the present, Jon feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Can you, like, eat the rest of her?” Martin asks hoarsely.

“Are you kidding? Are you seeing how much I would have to eat? I can’t possibly finish her!” Jon spits back.

“Shit.” says Martin.

“Yeah.” says Jon.

_ “Wow.” _ says a third voice, nearly giving Jon a heart attack.

Across the yard, perched upon the fence dividing his house from theirs, Gerard Delano is sitting and watching them with wide eyes. Jon sputters, trying to think of a way to backtrack. He and Martin can’t look  _ too _ suspicious, right?

Gerard eyes the corpse, “You guys look  _ really _ suspicious.”

It’s Martin who manages to speak, stuttering out excuses as Gerard hops over the fence and lands in their yard on steady feet, “It’s not- um, this isn’t what it looks like! We didn’t do this! Or, well,  _ I _ didn’t do this! She’s fine! She’s asleep!”

“Asleep.” Gerard repeats flatly. Suddenly, his eyes narrow, “Hold on, is that-”

He trails off, and Jon is struck with a horrible, horrible realization. Mary had been someone’s mother. Mary was visiting her  _ son _ . He looks at Gerard, then at Mary’s body, then at Gerard again. Jon has torn apart a  _ family.  _ He hopes there is no viscera caught in his teeth.

“Gerard, I’m  _ so  _ sorry. If I had known she- or, actually I did already sort of know. But if I had cared when she told me she was visiting her son… That sounded cruel, I apologize. I’m not cruel. I killed her on accident.” Jon’s hands begin to shake as he bulldozes through his apology, “Actually, it was on purpose. But it wasn’t premeditated. Does that help? Fuck, I feel like it doesn’t.”

Gerard is silent for a moment, looking almost contemplative. He kneels down in the grass next to Mary’s dead body. His  _ mother’s _ dead body. Jon doesn’t have the heart to point out how her blood is beginning to stain Gerard’s jeans. He reaches out and cups her jaw with one hand, turning her slack face towards him. Blood dribbles out of her mouth. 

Then, because Jon’s day seems hellbent on being as bewildering and strange as possible, Gerard begins to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> god can u imagine killing a shithead old lady and then not even getting to enjoy it because your neighbor finds out and now youre gonna be involved in his family drama for like. ever. sucks to suck!


End file.
